


Sometime Around Midnight

by hazel_lannister



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Some Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 13:16:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20292073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_lannister/pseuds/hazel_lannister
Summary: It’s been three years, three fucking years since he left, and Harry is finally starting to feel okay again after falling for his secret fuck buddy and being unable to tell anybody about it. He’s finally moved on, or at least he thought he had, but seeing those light, gray eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter and the way his hips sway to the music has brought him back the three years right back to where he started.Aka the getting back together fic nobody asked for.





	Sometime Around Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the Airborne Toxic Event's "Sometime Around Midnight". It all kind of spiraled from there.

It starts sometime around midnight. Or at least that’s when Harry first lays eyes on the platinum blonde head, illuminated in the dimly lit bar. He’s in the middle of a very one sided conversation with Ron during which he will occasionally interject a nod or an agreeable hum. 

Draco’s smiling, grinning really, the drink in his hand held precariously as he talks animatedly with Pansy. Harry watches, no longer bothering to pretend to be listening to Ron’s story. His head is pounding along to the music, a side effect of the overwhelming base and the couple drinks he’s already finished. 

Draco flashes another smile and sets his drink on the bar, pulling Pansy to the small dancefloor. Harry shouldn’t have agreed to this, shouldn’t have agreed to coming to the bar he and Draco used to go to, the one laced with memories of snogging in a grimy bathroom and coming down Draco’s throat. 

It’s been three years, three fucking years since he left, and Harry is finally starting to feel okay again after falling for his secret fuck buddy and being unable to tell anybody about it. He’s finally moved on, or at least he thought he had, but seeing those light, gray eyes crinkled at the corners with laughter and the way his hips sway to the music has brought him back the three years right back to where he started. 

Maybe if it had stayed the friends with benefits situation it was meant to be, it would have been easier for Harry when they inevitably ended things. Maybe if there hadn’t been the secret handholding, the soft kisses after sex without any alternative goal… it was more, so much more than fucking. 

“I need to piss,” Ron says, clapping Harry’s shoulder as he passes. And now Harry is left alone without his poor excuse for a distraction, left with nothing to do but watch drunkenly as Draco gracefully sways his body to the music. He loses himself for a moment but then their eyes lock, and before Harry can comprehend that he  _ needs to look away _ , to escape, to be swallowed by the earth immediately, the blonde is walking up to him, weaving between pulsing bodies to make his way to Harry. 

And as he gets closer, leaning in to be heard above the pounding beat, Harry can smell his apple shampoo, the same from three years before, and once again Harry is hurled back into the memories, back to the times where they could whisper their secrets in the safety of the darkness. 

“How’ve you been?” Draco asks, arms held protectively around himself, and Harry can tell he’s uncomfortable in Harry’s presence, and it still comes as a shock even though it’s been three years since he would be spread open like a feast for Harry alone, since they would lie naked for hours just exploring the other’s skin. 

Harry swallows and takes another sip from his firewhiskey. “Pretty good… I, uh. Yeah.” They stand there in uncomfortable silence for a moment, twisting the blade in Harry’s chest as he remembers the time when the silence was filled with teasing insults and laughter, and when the silence did exist, it was a pleasant one, a tender one, each lost in their thoughts and soft touches and caresses. “I heard you got promoted at St. Mungo’s,” he adds and he’s filled with so many emotions swirling around in the pit of his stomach, fueled by the alcohol coursing through his veins; anger that Draco left him and was now making conversation like it never happened, guilt that he hadn’t tried hard enough to convince him to stay, and utter loss at the knowledge that he will never get what they had back. 

“Yeah, I… yes,” Draco replies, looking at his shoes for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always does when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and Harry hates how clearly he remembers. 

“Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” Draco says quietly, peering up at him from beneath his lashes, and Harry can see that year, that entire year flashing past his eyes a mile a minute; Draco’s laugh, carefree and easy, his hair mussed from the wind, or the way it looked like spun silver in the shower… his pale lashes brushing his cheeks when he slept in Harry’s arms… 

Harry’s too drunk for this. He could have a negative blood alcohol percentage and he would still be too drunk for this. And yet he still wants to drink about eight more shots simultaneously, because even after three years, it’s too much, it’s too much. Because all the reasons they told themselves they couldn’t be together still exist but Harry wants to throw them all out the window, and is having a hard time remembering a single one. 

“Well, it was good to see you,” Draco says with a polite smile, but no, he can’t leave yet, not again, not after all this time, but the words die on Harry’s tongue and instead, he watches Draco return to his friends. 

He whips around when he feels a hand on his back, spilling a bit of his drink on the other. “Easy, mate, ‘s just me… you alright? You look like you’re gonna be sick,” Ron says, looking at him appraisingly. 

“I’m fine, just need another drink,” Harry says, downing what little remains in his glass. He sits with Ron at the bar, the latter no longer attempting to make conversation after probably sensing Harry is in no mood to talk. He just wants to mope and brood and drink himself into a stupor to forget, just for tonight. 

He watches as Draco resumes dancing with his friends, laughing and singing along to some of the lines, before a tall, dark-skinned man comes up behind the blonde. Harry cranes his neck for a better view of the pulsing mass of dancing bodies and notices that the two are now dancing together, the other man’s hands on Draco’s hips. 

He watches with morbid fixation as the stranger pulls Draco closer so that their bodies are pressed together, stares as Draco tilts his head to expose his throat and the guy leans down to mouth at the sensitive area. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to, and boy does he want to, but it’s like watching a car crash and Harry cannot pull his eyes away, even when Draco’s gaze meets his own suddenly, guilt flashing through the silver depths, and Draco separates himself from the stranger’s body but pulls him off the dancefloor, waving to Pansy before he looks to Harry once more and bolts with the other man in tow. 

Harry stands so suddenly that Ron looks at him with a mixture of surprise and concern, holding out a hand in case Harry loses his balance, which is a very real possibility at this point. “I should get going,” he says, and Ron is still giving him the look with pursed lips and furrowed brows. 

“You alright?” he asks, begrudgingly dropping his hand. 

“Yeah… just ate something,” Harry says, making a face and placing a hand on his abdomen. “I’m gonna just turn in, I’ll see you Monday,” he adds before Ron can argue or ask for more details. 

Harry walks under the streetlights, too drunk to notice the few wandering individuals staring at the savior of the wizarding world stumbling in the foggy light, his breath hot and visible in the cool air. He leans against a lamp post and rests his head against the cold metal, trying not to think about what they had, what they lost. 

…

“Oh my gosh, Gin! I’m so happy for you guys,” Hermione exclaims, pulling Ginny into a hug and kissing her on the cheek before hugging Blaise’s as well. 

Blaise wraps an arm around Ginny’s shoulders once the congratulations are through and Harry grins, thrilled one of his closest friends has found happiness with another person. “Yeah, so the wedding is scheduled for the fourth of June, and we want all of you to be there,” Ginny continues, giving Blaise a brief soft smile that is so intimate and over before he can blink that Harry almost feels like he is witnessing something he shouldn’t. 

As happy as he is for one of his best friends in the world to be getting married, his mind almost instantly strays to a certain blonde whom he ran into the week prior. He knows Draco is quite close to Blaise still and he’s managed to avoid dinners and celebrations he knows that the other will be attending. But he knows that there is no way Draco will miss this, and there is no way that he can in turn. 

“Two weeks from Sunday we’re having dinner at Mum’s just to celebrate and everything, and it would be great if you could make it,” Ginny continues, now fixing her gaze on Harry. “No flimsy excuses about work or anything.” 

Harry looks at his feet for a moment embarrassed, but he has no excuse. None of them knew about the… arrangement he had with Draco, and they had agreed not to disclose the details when it ended. At the time, there would have been no way that their friends would have understood and by the time they had all moved past the war, it would have been pointless to bring it up. And Harry really didn’t care to revisit the memories and emotions tied to them once more. 

“I’ll be there, Gin, I promise.” 

Ginny gives him a smile that’s laced with melancholy and something he cannot place, but then Hermione and Ron begin discussing catering or something of the like with Blaise and Ginny pulls him to the side. 

“You’re almost always busy when we have dinners with Blaise… do you not like him?” Ginny asks and she sounds smaller than Harry’s ever heard her, the powerful witch that isn’t afraid of anybody, and she suddenly looks more like the younger sister she’s always been. 

“No, no, he’s perfect for you. You know how things are at the Ministry… but I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He hopes his smile is convincing because his words are true for the most part, though he does omit the true reason he avoids Blaise’s company as it usually is accompanied by a couple other former Slytherins. 

“Thanks, Harry,” Ginny says, smiling wetly and pulling him into a hug. He pats her gently on the back, not sure what else to do with his hands before she releases him once more and goes to stand next to her fiance. 

… 

Two weeks fly by and Harry finds himself engaged with an animated Arthur Weasley about how muggle ceremonies differ from the wizarding world. He’s pleasantly tipsy off two glasses of champagne and is enjoying the time with his friends celebrating their engagement, especially since a certain blonde is noticeably absent. 

Just as they are sitting down for supper, the front door opens and in steps a rumpled Draco Malfoy, his hair damp from the spring rain and his robes not in their usual impeccable state. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he says with an apologetic smile before clapping Blaise on the back and kissing Ginny on the cheek. “Hospital was a nightmare.” 

He heads to grab a plate from the kitchen after saying his hellos, passing by Harry without meeting his eyes, and though it wouldn’t look like anything to an outsider, the rejection still stings. The others return to their conversations as Draco is in the kitchen and Harry belatedly becomes aware that the only empty seat is to his right. A fact that will surely make their whole ‘ignore each other’ agreement more difficult. 

He can’t come up with a good reason to ask someone to switch with him and it’s too late to try when Draco comes out with a full plate of Molly’s famous meat pie. He sits casually next to Harry but as far on his seat as he can be without it being obvious to the others. He’s clearly avoiding brushing arms with Harry and keeps his legs angled slightly away, and it’s such a stark contrast to a time when he would always be touching Harry in some way or another; a hand on his thigh, a knee pressed against his own, legs tangling under the table… 

“I can’t believe you two are getting married before ‘Mione and me, and I proposed first!” Ron laments, pretending to be upset but a smile is teasing the corners of his mouth. “You always have to steal my thunder.” 

Ginny rolls her eyes fondly but hits his shoulder. 

“You could always announce you’re pregnant the day of the wedding, take your thunder back…” Draco interjects, his face blank and serious but Harry has long since grown used to the dry humor and he chuckles in surprised laughter, partly from the shocked looks of his friends. He quickly becomes aware of himself when he and Draco make eye contact and the blonde looks at him with an unexpected look, the faint start of a smile playing on his lips. 

Harry blinks because being the recipient of that look again is  _ too much _ , too much like their year together and too much for Harry to remember he’s lost. He looks away quickly and doesn’t wait for Draco’s smile to break. 

“Can I get anyone anything?” he asks, standing suddenly, more out of politeness than anything else and walks briskly into the kitchen when no one answers within a moment. He ignores the kitchen despite having brought his glass with him. He walks out the back, screen door closing behind him, and takes a seat on the stoop, holding his head in his hands. 

He hears the screen door open and bang closed once more, and figuring it’s just Ron or Hermione checking on him to see what’s taking him so long and doesn’t bother looking up. He hears someone sit on the step beside him, the old wood creaking slightly under their weight, and to his surprise, no one says anything for a minute. 

“I’m sorry.” The voice doesn’t belong to his friends. It belongs to just about the last person he’d like to be next to at the moment, aside from maybe Wormtail or Umbridge. 

“For what?” he asks, sighing and finally looking up at Draco, propping his chin in his palm. Draco isn’t looking at him, is instead staring blankly at the garden where the setting sun has cast a golden-red light on everything on the horizon, the flowers and leaves nearly closed for the evening. 

Draco finally turns to Harry and purses his lips the way he does when he’s thinking, a hand rubbing unconsciously at his own thigh. “For everything, I guess… that you can barely look at me but you’re going to be stuck in the same room until this wedding is over.” He shrugs, still not looking at Harry. 

Harry narrows his eyes in confusion but doesn’t say anything, opting instead to chew idly at his thumbnail. 

“We just have to get through a couple months and then we can go back to pretending we don’t know each other,” Draco continues, doing a damn good job of feigning complete lack of acknowledgement that he’s actually talking to a person, that Harry is actually sitting there listening. 

Harry picks at his nail because he doesn’t want to look at Draco right now, his hair spun gold in the ebbing sunlight and his eyes a warm silver. He doesn’t have the strength not to want, not to touch. 

He glances up, thumb once again between his teeth and sees Draco looking at him with an expression that is both fond and wistful, as though remembering as well, the way Harry is thrown back into the past everytime he sees Draco. 

“What?” he asks defensively when Draco still does not look away and has not spoken. 

“Nothing, nothing… you just always bit your nails when you were nervous or uncomfortable,” Draco says, cheeks pink as he looks down at his own hands. 

“Yeah, guess some things never change,” Harry responds, bitterness and loss seeping into his tone but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Draco chuckles mirthlessly and they sit together for a moment, watching the sun finish its descent over the brow of the hill. 

“Harry, I, um--” Draco begins, placing a warm hand on Harry’s forearm, but when Harry looks down fixedly at the touch, Draco pulls away as though burned, suddenly remembering himself. Without finishing his sentence, he stands and walks back into the Burrow, the screen door banging hollowly behind him. 

… 

Harry follows Draco back into the house a few minutes later, muttering some excuse about work calling. Nobody buys it but no one questions it either. The rest of the evening is spent with Draco’s back to him, talking to his other friends while Draco occupies the opposite end of the room. 

It’s not ideal but it’s bearable, far more bearable than having to engage with him and pretend that nothing has ever happened, but it still stings his wounded nerves when Draco constantly keeps at least half of his body positioned away from Harry, refusing to even look in his general direction. 

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to call it a night,” he hears Draco saying to Ginny and Blaise, “I’ve got the morning shift tomorrow. But I’ll see you for drinks next week?” 

“Sounds good, go get some rest,” he hears Ginny respond and he turns to watch her kiss Draco on the cheek. 

“Goodnight,” Draco calls to the rest of the room, briefly making eye-contact in a frozen moment with Harry before walking out the front door. 

… 

“Come  _ on _ , Harry, we’re gonna be late for drinks.” Ginny is standing in his flat with a hand on her hip and head cocked slightly, brows raised impatiently as Harry pulls on a pair of muggle jeans. 

“I told you I would meet you there, I don’t know why you insisted on watching me through this whole process,” Harry replies, gesturing to his shoes lying on the floor before picking them up and starting to put them on. 

“Because I knew you’d either be late or you wouldn’t come and I want to have my bridesmaids there.” 

Harry rolls his eyes at the name but doesn’t bother commenting, he knows it won’t do much. When his shoes are tied, he links arms with Ginny and allows her to apparate them to the pub. Their friends are already there like Ginny predicted and they all shout their greetings accompanied by smiles, even Draco who grins in Ginny’s direction before turning its warmth on Harry, his smile softening in a sort of mutual understanding and familiarity that throws Harry off guard. 

They pile into several seats around two tables pressed together. Blaise stands when he catches sight of Ginny and the two share a lingering kiss which receives whoops and hollers as well as some calls to get a room. Then they all sit and order a couple pitchers, and to Harry’s dismay, the only vacant seat somehow ends up being the one at Draco’s side.

Draco glances up at him briefly when Harry plops into the chair, giving a small smile before turning to the conversation that has sparked between the rest of their friends. There is talk of work and wedding plans, and Harry has had a long Friday at the Ministry, busy training some of the new Aurors and filling out several accident reports due to some ill timed pranks, and tunes out for a bit, settling into the warmth of the pub and the company. 

He finishes a pint and is feeling warm and good, sinking into the back of the chair as he watches his friends joke and banter and laugh. He can’t deny it’s nice, and he almost forgets Draco is sitting less than a foot away. 

He refills his glass with some of the last dregs of the pint as the others drain their own glasses, and he downs it in a final gulp. Draco stands and takes the two empty pitchers to get refills at the bar. A moment later, Harry stands as well to help him carry them to the table. The bartender sets the pitchers on the crowded bar in front of Draco, and before truly considering it, he leans in close to Draco’s side, brushing against him as he takes the other pitcher. 

He relishes his body heat for one moment, their two bodies pressed against one another as Draco turns to look at Harry, his eyes wide but he doesn’t make a motion to move away. Harry blinks, his breath returning to him, and suddenly becomes aware of their proximity and why they really should  _ not _ be this close to one another, and Harry should  _ not _ be able to see the blue in Draco’s grey eyes, and he suddenly steps back, the beer sloshing precariously in the pitcher. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles once he’s a safe distance away and quickly makes his way back to their table. 

He sits back in his seat, making certain that he’s sitting in his chair as far from Draco as he can get without appearing too obvious. He tries to listen attentively to Pansy’s story about some prick in the office but it’s extremely difficult with Draco in his periphery. All hope of ignoring Draco goes out the window when he feels a warm pressure on his thigh, the weight that is still familiar after the years apart of Draco’s leg at ease against his own.

He feels Draco’s knee resting against his thigh and their ankles touching. Harry shoots him a questioning glance but Draco isn’t even looking in his direction, appearing to be rather engrossed in Pansy’s story. Since Draco appears not to have noticed, he decides that moving his leg away would bring more attention to himself than he wants so instead he opts not to. 

A moment later, Draco shifts again, still not looking in Harry’s direction, and leans slightly to the side, their shoulders brushing. Harry can feel the heat emanating from Draco’s body and the urge to pull him close is sudden and almost overwhelming.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s left frozen in frigid indecision, wanting to move closer and further away simultaneously, but the heat is too intoxicatingly familiar and he finds himself unable to separate once again. Instead, he spends the duration of the evening with his chest feeling tight with confusion and emotion, and warm from the touch of a man he might have loved. 

…

Harry wipes a hand down his face in exhaustion as he turns to yet another stack of paperwork, due within the next two days. He’s swamped, but what else is new, and he’s agreed to go on a stakeout tonight because no one else wanted the inconvenient hours and it gets him out of yet another evening with a blonde that is far too attractive for his own good--or Harry’s. 

Despite what Hermione says, Harry happily relies on throwing himself into his work; it’s the perfect place to forget the problems of the real world and he’s always had an easier time trying to fix the troubles of others than his own. 

But tonight he is exhausted due to a number of sleepless nights for reasons that he  _ won’t _ reiterate, so he will admit that he’s a bit off his game. But the Aurors have been staking out the old, abandoned building for nearly a week now with no abnormal activity so Harry isn’t too worried. Which is probably the reason he misses the first hex. 

He makes a valiant effort, throwing stunner after stunner as well as a volley of disarming spells, but he’s vastly outnumbered by wizards he can’t see in the darkness. A third stunner hits his torso and the world goes black. 

… 

“...no longer....critical condition….vitals have returned to normal…” 

“...when…. wake…” 

“...Only a matter of time… but we need to let him rest.” He hears another pause and then a softer, “He’ll be alright, Granger. He always is.” 

“Thank you, Draco, we really appreciate all you’ve done for him.” 

Something flickers distantly within Harry at the name, a faint glimmer of recognition as the memory of a head thrown back with laughter, grey eyes hooded and warm. Harry strains to chase the memory laced with sadness despite the joyful laugh and carefree smile. He tries to blink open but is instantly blinded by harsh, artificial light. He sucks in a deep breath and tries again a moment later, cracking open his eyes when three concerned faces look down on him. 

Hermione moves first, practically throwing herself on Harry and sobbing in relief. Ron stands behind her leaning forward to clasp at Harry’s hand. It takes a moment to become aware of his surroundings and his friends, and another to realize why the blonde Healer looks so timid standing about a foot away from his bed. 

Only when the blonde takes a half step forward and raises a hand as though to touch Harry before immediately catching himself and dropping it does Harry’s memory return to him completely; the pain in his abdomen, the upcoming wedding, the sharing of body heat in the pub that night…

“Harry? How are you feeling?” Hermione asks him, bringing his attention back to the present. 

Harry turns his head away from Draco’s concerned gaze and instead focuses on adjusting to the light. “‘M okay… head’s a little fuzzy,” he says, blearily peering around the room harshly lit with bright fluorescent light. 

“That’ll be the pain potions we have you on,” Draco interjects. “You were hit with three stunners and hit your head on the ground pretty hard, so we’ll need to watch for lingering concussion effects for the next couple days,” he continues, his voice cool and professional, lacking all of the warmth and joy that his memory contained. 

“And what about the Deatheaters? Did they--did we--”

“There were nine of them, you were horribly outnumbered, thanks to cuts from the damn Ministry,” Ron grumbles. 

“But five were paralyzed from your spells last night and the other four were caught this morning,” Hermione finishes, squeezing his arm reassuringly. 

Harry lets out a breath and glaces at Draco just in time to see him roll his eyes and mutter something that sounds like ‘savior’, but he’s too exhausted to really think about it. 

“You’re going to need to be on bedrest for half a week, and knowing you, at least two days.” Healer Malfoy is back in all his cool, calm professional glory. Harry chuckles self deprecatingly and sees Hermione exchange a glance with Ron. “I have other patients to see to so I’ll give you guys some space, if you need anything you can call the nurse or send me a patronus.” 

He begins to make his way out of the room, kissing Hermione’s cheek briefly before he leaves which confuses Harry but he shrugs it off and blames the concussion. Draco pauses at the door, turning back with a smile softened with melancholy, and murmurs, “I’m glad you’re alright, Harry.” And he’s gone before Harry has time to blink. 

… 

Hermione and Ron finally go home several hours later once Harry has said “I don’t need you to spend the night in the hospital with me,” in about every variation he can think of. He almost regrets it once the lights are dimmed and the nurses stop their milling about. It’s dark, lonely, and too quiet. He had slept for another couple hours after his friends had gone but now he’s wide awake and alone. 

He wishes he’d taken Hermione up on her offer to go fetch some books for him. He’s just looking for an alternate source of entertainment when there is a timid knock on the door frame. Harry looks up and is surprised to see Draco standing hesitantly next to the door, seeming unsure if he wants to enter the room or not. 

“Hey,” Harry calls softly, his voice cracking from lack of use and Draco appears almost startled that he’s speaking. 

“Hi,” he responds, now stepping into the room next to Harry’s bed, “Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be awake.” 

Harry tries to sit up but his arms feel weak and shaky and Draco immediately helps him. “Yeah it’s late but I slept for a while. What time is it?” 

“Almost midnight,” Draco murmurs, turning to the chair at his bedside before transfiguring it into something that looks far more comfortable. “Mind if I sit?” he asks politely and Harry nods. “How are you feeling? Headache? Nausea? Dizziness?” 

“I’m fine, thanks, just a bit weak still,” he replies and Draco nods. They sit for a moment of tense silence filled with unspoken questions and so many words of years ago. Harry wants to make conversation, wants to ask if his life truly is better without Harry, the way Draco had said Harry’s would be... that he didn’t need a former deatheater weighing him down. But instead they sit in strained silence with Draco gazing at his hands fidgeting while Harry tries (and fails) not to stare. Draco opens his mouth as if to say something but quickly snaps it shut. “I should let you rest,” he says, standing so quickly that Harry doesn’t have time to think of a reason he should stay. 

…

The next time Harry wakes up, he’s not alone. It takes him a moment to become aware of his surroundings but soon notices Draco seated in the transfigured seat, his head in his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispers and clears his throat. 

Draco’s head snaps up and he looks startled at having been caught. He blinks a few times and the wetness in his eyes clears minutely. “Sorry,” he mumbles, wiping idly at his cheek with the back of his wrist. Harry’s brows furrow and he purses his lips as Draco continues. “Today has been…” he trails off, chuckling humorlessly and shaking his head. 

Harry nods, unsure of what he can say to make up for all the dilapidated bridges between them, all the cobwebs and dust in their relationship. He wants to ask, wants to know what is making Draco feel this way and if they are the same things Harry is feeling or if he has nearly forgotten. 

Draco blinks rapidly once more and refuses to look at Harry for another moment. “It’ll be alright, Dray,” Harry says after a moment, hesitantly reaching out a hand with which Draco entwines his own fingers, squeezing tightly. Draco gives him a watery smile and gives his hand another squeeze. 

“So how is it being ‘Healer Malfoy, Division Head of Healing Potions’?” Harry asks with a smile in the hopes of lightening the atmosphere.

Draco laughs and rolls his eyes. “It’s good, more hours, but better pay, fewer people telling me what to do…” he shrugs with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s a hard job, but it’s more than worth it,” he finishes softly, glancing up from their hands to briefly look at Harry. 

“You’re a great healer, and I know you’ve more than earned it…” Harry says softly, suddenly aware that they are still holding hands and that he needs to let go, and more importantly, he really doesn’t want to. Once again he is frightened by the depth of his feelings, maintained after the past three years only to rush to the surface whenever they’re together again. 

“Thank you,” Draco whispers with surprising warmth. “Tell me about things at the Ministry, still playing the hero, Potter?” Draco asks playfully, a half smirk that used to irritate him to no end but then became one of his favorite things to kiss off his face. 

“You know me too well,” Harry says with a roll of his eyes. “Saving babies, helping old women across the street… the usual.” Draco laughs again and gives his hand a squeeze almost unconsciously. 

“Always the savior,” he says smartly but there’s a familiar fondness underneath that he doesn’t think Draco is even aware of. “But seriously,” Draco begins, looking at him soberly, “are you taking care of yourself?” 

Harry wants to roll his eyes at the question, the eighteen year old in him coming to the surface, but something about the timidity but also concern in Draco’s eyes as he asked the question makes him pause. “I try to,” he finally answers as honestly as he can. 

Draco nods, his mouth a hard line as though this was the answer he expected, and releases Harry’s hand to cover a yawn. 

“You should get some rest,” Harry says, only half teasingly. Draco gives him a look and Harry gazes back with as sincere a look as he can manage without laughing. “As your healer, I am advising you to get some sleep.” 

Draco rolls his eyes but can’t seem to hold back his laugh, throwing Harry an exasperated, fond look that holds something more he can’t place. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says standing, pausing a moment before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Harry’s cheek. “Thank you,” and with that he’s out of the room with Harry staring at the ceiling, confused beyond belief but unable to wipe his smile. 

…

The wedding approaches at breathtaking speed and Harry barely keeps track of the passage of time as he is kept busy with making up for the time he missed at work and being dragged out by his friends at least once a week. Finally the weekend of the wedding arrives and their large group of friends is staying at the hotel where the ceremony will take place the next morning. 

The group is all dispersed in the hotel bar, broken into smaller groups and pairs. Harry takes a seat in a booth across from Hermione and Pansy in a spot Ron has just vacated to complete a drink off with Seamus. It’s honestly a little frightening how close the two women had become in such a short period of time, now an unstoppable force when they both set their minds to something. 

The two are speaking quietly and seriously when Harry sits down but all conversation ceases when they notice his presence. 

“It’s going to be a lovely ceremony,” Hermione states as though she hadn’t just been immersed in what looked like a serious conversation. 

“Yes, truly beautiful, just wait until you see the dress, Potter,” Pansy interjects and Harry suddenly wishes he hadn’t decided to join them. 

He nods politely and takes another sip of his firewhiskey, reclining further into the booth and throwing an arm over the back. He watches as Ron stumbles and nearly topples over and Ginny yells fiercely, also decently inebriated as many others watch humorously. 

He’s just noticed he hasn’t seen Draco for a bit and when he had, Draco had kept his distance, keeping close to Luna and Pansy until she joined Hermione. Now, Harry can’t find him and his heart sinks with the knowledge that he’s most likely called it a night. 

He’s startled out of his own self pity by a sudden jostling of the booth as the man of his thoughts plops down in the seat beside him, nestling into Harry’s exposed side due to the position of his arm still resting on the back of the booth. He settles into Harry as though it is still the most natural thing in the world after three years apart. Harry sits shock still for a minute as Draco easily joins the conversation and Harry notices the women exchange another glance and he wonders idly that they seem to be doing that a lot lately. 

He deliberates dropping his arm because he doesn’t know what Draco’s game is, if this is one at all, but he is certain that there isn’t enough alcohol in the world for him to be able to understand it all. Instead he elects to leave his arm where he is and not to move away, figuring it would draw more attention to their position, something unnecessary considering Draco probably isn’t even aware of how close he was sitting. 

Draco shifts again and Harry can feel the warmth emanating from his side all against his ribcage and the urge to lower his arm to Draco’s shoulders and bring him fully to his side is sudden and overwhelming and Harry clenches the fist under the table in the hopes of finding self control. 

He focuses on paying attention to wedding plans and other bits of conversation but the goal flies out the window when he feels a warm hand resting on his thigh just above his knee. Harry freezes, shooting a questioning glance to his right but Draco simply continues talking animatedly as though nothing is amiss. He needs to go. He needs to breathe, to think, to fucking talk this out, but he has no idea what he would even say or if he even wants to open up the old wounds only to have Draco pour lemon and salt on them. He can’t stitch himself back together alone again, he can’t. 

But he can’t continue… whatever is happening right now. Draco is probably the most irritating, confusing, gorgeous bastard he’s ever met and he has no idea what to do about it. Instead he sits silently, tries not to revel in the warmth Draco’s proximity brings him, tries to resist the urge to move closer like a moth drawn to light. 

Draco makes a joke that Harry doesn’t hear half of and Pansy and Hermione burst out into laughter while Draco gives a satisfied grin. He turns to Harry and the grin softens into a warm smile, brows raised and eyes open and Harry feels Draco give his leg a comforting squeeze. Harry rests a hand over Draco’s for half a moment, trying so desperately not to know how perfect the single moment feels. 

“You two seem rather…friendly,” Pansy says with a look of perfected faux innocence. The response is immediate and Draco shifts quickly away from Harry’s body, his hand ripped away and his cheeks a lovely shade of pink. 

“We…” Draco begins but Harry’s done with this, done with the whirlwind and hurricane of emotions that Draco brings with him, with the constant wondering if he feels the same way. Luckily, Ron is looking rather green and Harry makes a move to stand. Draco moves out of his way, not meeting his eyes. 

“I should check on Ron,” Harry mutters, going to help Ron to the bathroom, grateful for such a quick escape. 

…

Harry can’t sleep. He’s helped Ron to his room that the redhead shares with Hermione and has now been tossing in his bed for over an hour. It’s too hot with the covers and too cold without them, and the bed is far too big for just one person. 

His thoughts rattle loudly around his brain, memories of the past years and even more so, the present, the heat of Draco’s touch still burning into his flesh as though he were there right now. He huffs at himself once more, once again rolling to the other side of the bed that has not yet been warmed by his body. 

He glances at the alarm clock glowing an artificial blue into the room, the two dots flashing with the seconds crawling by. It’s half past midnight and Harry has to be up in less than six hours. He’s finally,  _ finally _ nodding off when a sharp knock on the door startles him awake. He blinks blearily, rubbing a hand over his face before shucking off the covers and making his way to the door. 

He opens it heavily, blinded temporarily by the harsh light in the hall and is confronted by a disheveled looking Draco who appears to have slept for about the same amount as Harry. His eyes are hooded and a dark, slate-grey that stare intensely at Harry for a moment, who is suddenly aware that he’s in nothing but a pair of navy boxers. 

Draco himself is in a white cotton t-shirt and grey joggers, ones that look surprisingly familiar. A flash of a memory sparks in Harry’s mind of Draco poking fun at the muggle trousers and how ugly they were, and yet he would still steal Harry’s to sleep in. 

“Draco?” Harry asks and Draco looks into his eyes for half a moment before making his way into the room, not bothering to wait for Harry to bid him entrance. Harry opens his mouth to ask if he’s alright, what’s going on, but the look Draco is giving him bids him pause. It’s dark and full of so much gravity and earnestness that Harry hesitates. Painstakingly slowly, Draco takes a step towards him and another until he is in Harry’s space, less than a foot apart, their height difference more evident than usual. 

There doesn’t seem to be enough air in the small space and Harry breathes heavily, watching with riveted fixation for Draco’s next move. Draco places his hands gently on Harry’s bare chest, his touch feather-light which does nothing to convince Harry this isn’t a dream. His fingers stroke the sparse hair there, eyes fixed on the center of his chest as though Draco himself is bearing witness to his own movements, as caught with hesitation and fascination as Harry is. 

He moves impossible closer chin tilted up and lips parted as he finally meets Harry’s eyes, searching for an answer that Harry doesn’t have. Harry tilts his chin down, a hand coming up to cup Draco’s jaw as he finally closes the gap and oh-so-slowly presses his lips to Draco’s. 

Draco lets out a soft sigh as soon as their lips meet and all of the tension in his body evaporates suddenly as he melts into Harry. Harry’s arms wrap around Draco’s waist as though of their own accord and draw him closer, deepening the kiss as their bodies come into contact. 

His first thought when he enters Draco’s mouth is  _ he still tastes the same _ , even after three years. His lips still move the same way against Harry’s as though simultaneously trying to taste every inch and be devoured by Harry. They no longer move with the hesitancy and fumbling of inexperienced teenagers but still with the timidity the weight of time holds on them. 

Harry tugs at the bottom of Draco’s t-shirt, urging him to take it off as he feels a hot tongue licking its way across the tendon that stretches from his ear to his shoulder. “Draco,” Harry murmurs against his jaw, nipping at the flesh there. He pulls at the shirt again, wanting to feel his bare chest against his own, to  _ see  _ him for all that he is and apologize with his mouth for the scars he put there long before, the way he always did when they were together. 

Draco finally gets the message and steps back for a moment and removes the obtrusive article, revealing pale skin and the familiar criss-crossing of silver scars across his chest and abdomen. The sight takes Harry’s breath away the way it always has, but it is different than before. Draco has filled out more since their teenage years, lean muscle beneath smooth skin. 

Harry raises a hand hesitantly and at Draco’s slight nod, places a hand in the center of his chest, just above his sternum and trails it southward. He feels the ridges of abs and the dips just below his hip bones where the sweats hang low. 

“You bought joggers,” Harry says with a humorous quirk to his smile which broadens further when Draco turns a lovely shade of pink. 

“Actually, they’re yours,” he mumbles not meeting Harry’s eyes for a moment. “They were too comfortable to give back to you.” Harry’s grin softens at the admission, feeling soft and a warm tenderness that Draco had kept them all these years. 

Harry can’t think of something that properly expresses all the things that makes him feel, and his throat feels too tight to form words anyway, so instead he pulls Draco in for a soft kiss, less hurried than those before, a kiss not meant for the final destination of sex but rather to communicate an emotion that Harry can’t name. 

Draco kisses back softly, his thumb brushing the stubble on his jaw while his other hand comes to tangle in the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, the feeling both familiar but foreign with the ghost of a memory Harry had tried to forget. But with every touch, every caress and every kiss, the memories come pouring in, flashing by quickly of Draco’s face contorted with pleasure as Harry thrusts deeper than he would have thought possible, Draco looking up at him, soft and sleepy as a hand reaches to finger Harry’s hair… Draco’s laughing face softening into a look of something more as he looks up at Harry… 

It’s too much and not enough, intoxicating in the whirlwind of emotions but Harry couldn’t stop this if he tried. He leads Draco to the bed, gently removing the joggers and exposing his erection before removing his own pants. He’s hard and leaking already but he doesn’t want to rush this because he doesn’t know how long he has and he knows that this may be the last time he gets. 

He’s given up on trying to remember that what this is to him isn’t the same as what it is to Draco. He knows that he’s always felt more for Draco than was reciprocated and he knows he might well regret it in the future, but for tonight he’s going to dive head first once again and lose himself in Draco for possibly the last time. 

When he finally enters Draco after carefully opening him up and kissing away every, single scar he inflicted, the effect is instantaneous, pleasure coursing through his veins as he painstakingly enters the sweet, quivering opening. Draco slowly lowers himself on Harry’s cock, Harry’s hands guiding his hips as Draco slowly sinks down, not allowing Harry to pick up the pace. 

He has a hand on Harry’s chest to steady himself and he doesn’t look away from Harry’s eyes for several minutes of slowly rolling his hips, feeling Harry move inside him. Harry watches with intense fascination, his concentration difficult to maintain with the vibrant sparks of pleasure. Watching Draco pleasure himself on Harry’s cock, grey eyes almost black in the dark room with arousal, never leaving his own… it’s the most erotic experience Harry has ever had. 

Draco rides him painstakingly slowly for what feels like an eternity, hips moving in a sensuous rhythm that brings Harry to the brink and keeps him there with the slow movements. 

“Harry,” Draco cries breathlessly, “I’m close.” The movements of his hips quicken and Harry can only watch entranced, panting as he is overcome with pleasure by the steady grinding, Draco clenching tighter and tighter as he speeds up. “Harry,” he moans out again and Harry struggles to keep his eyes open but he wants to watch every moment, to never look away from the intense and pleasured look on Draco’s face. “I’m gonna--” Draco grasps at Harry’s hand on his hip, throwing his head back as his entrance tightens impossibly as he spurts cum onto Harry’s chest and torso. 

His release triggers Harry’s own and Harry can no longer keep his eyes open as he is overcome by pleasure, fingers tightening on Draco’s hips as his whole body tenses with every rush of cum. 

Draco collapses on top of Harry’s heaving chest, their panting breaths intermingling in the warm air. After a moment of recovery, Harry’s hand comes to trail up and down Draco’s spine, fingertips barely touching the smooth skin. He idly casts a wandless cleaning spell over them both and Draco gives him a look he can’t place. 

Draco pulls the covers over them both and Harry idly thinks that this must be the first time Draco has decided to stay, has made the conscious implicit invitation to stay. Harry doesn’t quite know what to make of the knowledge but it creates a pressure in his chest and a tightening in his gut. 

Draco’s breath gradually deepens and slows, nuzzling into Harry’s side with such soft innocence that his heart quickens in his chest. It’s too much, it’s just too much for Harry to handle now, all of his emotions that he’s suppressed for years rushing to the surface in an overwhelming surge that pricks his eyes with tears and makes his throat feel so tight it’s hard to draw in breaths. He glances down at Draco’s sleeping form and knows that he can’t get into this again, cannot make himself vulnerable only to be abandoned once again. 

He carefully disentangles himself from Draco and the sheets, pulls on a pair of sweats and a shirt before rushing out of the room. He’ll walk until the rehearsal in a few hours. 

… 

Draco hasn’t looked at him for the duration of the practice ceremony. Not once. Not that Harry is checking. He stares straight ahead, seemingly not even seeing what’s in front of him and he gazes at nothing, the edges of his eyes red and slightly swollen as though he hasn’t gotten much sleep. It twists the deep ache in Harry’s chest but he can’t take back what he did, and he knows that if he tries to they’ll be right back where they started. 

They go through the ceremony one more time for the evening before it is blessedly over and the participants in the wedding tomorrow all go to get dinner, the last one as a group of unmarried people. 

Harry trails behind the group into the restaurant, too lost in his own thoughts to truly participate in the excitement shared by everyone else. They get to a long booth and Harry is the last to arrive to the table, a mistake he realizes too late as the only available seat is at Draco’s side. 

He takes the seat silently, adamantly not looking up and at his friends that seem to somehow sense the awkwardness he is feeling. He stares down at his meal for the duration of the dinner, trying not to pay mind to the heat he can feel of Draco at his side, trying not to notice the way Draco sits somewhat hunched in his seat, the shadows of his face more prominent in the muted light. 

He peeks over at the blonde out of the corner of his eye for the hundredth time in the past fifteen minutes but this time Draco catches him, giving Harry a look like he can’t figure him out, his mouth set and brows furrowed, grey eyes filled with something that makes Harry’s chest ache. But he knows that if he had stayed, he would have fallen right back to where he started and convinced himself once again that what they had was more than sex and gotten hurt. 

And even still, seeing the way Draco’s eyes lack the light they usually do, the room muted without his usual snark and biting wit… he doesn’t know if it was worth it. 

He feins a stomach ache leaves excuses himself early, doesn’t bother giving a moment’s thought to Hermione’s look of concern and her glance to Draco. He just kisses Ginny’s cheek and says he’ll see them all tomorrow with a smile that cracks his face. 

He walks mindlessly back to the hotel room and lies on the mussed sheets, no longer bothering to keep the images that flash through his brain at bay. Staring at the dark ceiling, he sees Draco’s naked body tangled in the white sheets, skin pale and luminous in the soft warm light. Unbidden, flashes of Draco sleeping alone in the bed, curled up on the side Harry vacated early that morning burst through his mind and he tosses in the bed once more, unable to get comfortable and warm in the cold, empty space. 

He stares at the blank wall with a generic hotel painting for an insurmountable amount of time when he hears a knock at the door. His heart instantly quickens in his chest and he’s out of bed before he has time to fully think anything through. But he knows who it is,  _ knows _ who it has to be knocking at his room in the middle of the night. 

He whips open the door with more force than is strictly necessary, and Draco looks startled for half a moment. But then his face smooths into the familiar stoic cold that Harry used to always be able to make disappear with words or an embrace… He does neither right now. 

Draco just stares at him with a lost expression, bags impossibly darker under his eyes and mouth set in a hard line that doesn’t suit his face. Harry opens his mouth, beginning to ask if he’s alright, but Draco just pushes past him into the room. 

“How could you leave again?” His voice is more hollow than Harry’s ever heard it and he’s stuck between wanting to close the distance and not wanting to cross any boundaries, his arms as a result jerking uselessly as he struggles to keep them at his sides. The words take a long time to echo around Harry’s mind before they start to make sense, the  _ again _ carving something deep in his chest. “I thought that finally,  _ finally  _ I was good enough for you… that you could--” Draco cuts himself off, choking on the words. “But then you just left the next morning like some cheap hooker?” 

Harry blinks, suddenly wide awake. “Leave you again?” he asks in astonishment. “Don’t you dare point this at me… you were always,  _ always _ the one that left first. And even though I  _ knew _ that for you it was just sex, that you  _ still _ think it can never work, I just--” He swallows thickly. “ _ I _ was the one with a part of me that says that it can, that it has to… But it fucking doesn’t, does it? Because we want different things, we always have, and I’ll always want more than you’re willing to give.”

Draco looks at him incredulously for a moment that hangs heavy in the thick air before Harry is suddenly being shoved at his chest, Draco’s eyes a sea of anger and hurt, a betrayal lying beneath. “You fucking tosser! Three fucking years because you thought that was all I wanted? Without even  _ asking _ ? Three fucking--” But then he’s kissing Harry soundly on the mouth, fingers clasping desperately at his hair, feeling it as though it’s the only thing keeping him here at this moment. 

He breaks away from Harry who is still standing stunned, his face most likely resembling something of a fish and he blinks, trying to process the sharp turn this conversation has taken. “I thought--” Harry starts before he’s being pulled down for another kiss. 

Draco pulls away after a moment again, familiar smirk on his lips, one that used to drive him crazy but now sends his heart flying. “Don’t do much thinking with your brain, do you Potter?

And Harry is laughing as he leans in to steal another kiss because now he can. “Good thing you like me for my cock, not what’s in my head,” Harry murmurs teasingly, his thumb coming up to brush the familiar softness of Draco’s cheek. 

“Wanker,” Draco grumbles but he doesn’t bother to hide his smile. 

“Only for you,” Harry retorts, pulling Draco with him to the bed. 

…

Harry awakens with his nose buried in silken platinum locks, a loud banging on the door, startling them both. Draco turns over groggily and snuggles sleepily into Harry’s chest, still bare from the night before. The pounding resumes once more and Draco groans. Harry places a chaste kiss and gently extricates himself from Draco’s embrace, pulling on a pair of boxers before opening the door. 

He opens the door to a bright eyed, surprisingly controlled haired Hermione. Her eyes are frazzled, however, and Harry’s stomach drops with the feeling that he’s forgotten something. “You were supposed to be down an hour ago! Where in the--” She cuts off as Harry feels long arms wrap around his torso, and Hermione glances over his shoulder as a smirk forms on her lips. “So that’s why you haven’t answered Pansy.” She glances between the two of them and continues. “It’s about time. Get dressed, ceremony starts in less than an hour,” and with that, she turns on her heal, Harry closing the door behind her, mouth still agape. 

“How did she…” he trails off, knowing that it was foolish to believe anything would get passed Hermione. Draco buries his head in Harry’s chest once more and Harry looks down at him fondly. 

“I  _ may _ have let slip to the she-devil… about us, after we ended things,” Draco mumbles guiltily, arms wrapped loosely around Harry’s waist. Harry brushes the hair out of Draco’s face, placing a chaste kiss softly on his forehead. “Are you upset with me?” Draco asks, voice small. 

“No, love, of course not,” Harry murmurs, pulling Draco’s chin gently up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go to a wedding, huh?” Draco squeezes his hand and grins. 

… 

**Author's Note:**

> Hoped you liked this brief little fic, it's been sitting in my drive waiting to be edited for ages lol. Comments and Kudos are always greatly appreciated and thank you so much for reading!


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